Cavalry formed an outer guard for the roofless prison vans, inside which stood policemen and prisoners. Missiles aimed at soldiers and police went flying through the air. Soon rioters and soldiers were grappling with each other.
Molly kept her head down as much as she could, making her way along the pavement, pushing and shoving, dodging the odd missile that went astray. Then she heard a shot ring out and almost at her feet a man fell to the ground.
She stopped in her tracks, terrified, wishing herself out of it and back at the house. She stared at the soldier and his smoking gun. Then she was pushed aside.
Molly hurried on as she spotted Frank. His head was bandaged and his face pale. He looked very unlike himself. Her sympathy was roused, wondering how a man accustomed to the open seas was going to cope with imprisonment. She shouted his name and plunged into the melee around the van. A horse reared. A soldier cursed. She felt a blow on her shoulder which knocked her off balance. Struggling to her feet, she realised the prison van containing Frank had passed her by.
She looked after it. ‘Frank!’ she yelled. Tm behind you.’ This time he must have heard her because he glanced over his shoulder. Then he was gone.
Someone took her arm and pulled her back. ‘Are you bloody mad?’
She could scarcely believe her eyes. ‘You again?’
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Nathan’s eyes were dark with fury. ‘You could have been trampled by that horse.’ Molly was trembling and in pain. ‘Frank’s in one of those prison vans.’
‘So you came to see him?’
‘He’s going to prison. I am his wife!’
‘I didn’t think you cared that much.’There was a look on his face that brought her up short.
‘Of course I care.’ Molly’s voice softened and she winced, putting a hand to her shoulder. ‘He’s injured. If I had a brother in that state, I’d be here.’
‘He’s hardly your brother!’
‘I’ve just explained,’ she said wearily. ‘Surely you can understand? Aren’t you still putting flowers on your wife’s grave?’ A bottle whizzed past her ear and Molly jumped.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ muttered Nathan, pulling her up a side street.
Molly was starting to feel odd and her shoulder was throbbing. Her body sagged against his. ‘I don’t feel well,’ she murmured.
‘Neither do I. I thought you loved me?’
‘What?’ She looked at him, startled. ‘Of course I love you. But I’m fond of Frank. How would it have been between us if you hadn’t lost your wife?’
There was silence. Then he said, ‘I met her eldest brother last time I was at the grave.’
Molly stiffened, feeling worse than ever. ‘What did he have to say?’
‘Talked of old times. It was Easter and we always had a big supper at the farm then. He sent Jessica a present afterwards. A gold sovereign.’ Molly almost fainted. ‘He mentioned some others and said he’d see to it she’d have enough to buy a diamond necklace for herself by the time she was twenty-one. He’s a bit soft for a farmer is Arnold. How many of them think in terms of diamond necklaces instead of pig’s swill or cow’s milk? I put it with the others I found in a drawer in the nursery. That was careless of you, Moll. You should have told me about them being there.’
‘I forgot about them altogether. Grief, I suppose. We both had other things on our minds and when I left it was in such a rush.’ She hoped he would understand or at least pretend to.
‘That’s true.’ He gazed down at her. ‘You OK?’
‘No. But I’ll survive.’ He must believe the coins in the drawer were all there’d been. She felt worse than ever now about the one she’d pawned.
‘You were a fool to come here today but I envy Frank more than ever now.’
‘You mustn’t.’ She stumbled, feeling dizzy with pain. Nathan put his arms around her and swung her off her feet.
‘What are you doing? Someone might see us.’ She gazed wildly about the street. Fortunately it was deserted.
‘What the hell!’
She struggled but he gripped her tightly and carried on walking. Molly laughed weakly. ‘You’re crazy!’
‘The whole town’s gone mad.’
She gave up and relaxed in his arms but it was a relief when he set her down outside the pawnbroker’s on the corner of Latimer Street. ‘It was a daft thing to do, carrying me,’ she said sternly.
‘No dafter than you putting yourself in danger for a man who didn’t think twice about deserting you and George on Sunday.’ He brushed his lips against hers.
‘I had a rescuer.’ She caressed his cheek then turned and made for home.
Chapter Twelve
‘That’s a nasty bruise,’ said Cath, dabbing witch hazel on the purplish swelling on Molly’s shoulder. ‘You surprised me, Moll. You’re the blinkin’ heroine of the hour, if you ask me. I never thought you’d put yourself in danger for our Frank.’
Neither had Molly but she wondered what Cath would have made of her meeting up with Nathan. It was the following morning and she could scarcely move her arm. If she’d had work she wouldn’t have been able to do it. She gasped with pain as she flexed her fingers. ‘Fool more like,’ she murmured, but she felt more confident about herself somehow. ‘I don’t know what we’re going to do for money. Mine’s almost gone.’
‘What about your shares?’
‘Wrong time to sell.’ Cath looked at her and she said, ‘Don’t say it. I haven’t any intention of cheating on Frank. Anyway, we’ve got to carry on pulling together. Tommy Mann’s threatening a general strike now.’ She sighed. ‘As if things weren’t bad enough. The scavengers are out now. The streets are a mess.’
‘Have you heard anything more about that man who was shot?’
‘He wasn’t the only one killed. Mrs McNally told me three are dead. One a young fella from Hopwood Street who was only putting shutters up to protect his property. He was hit by a stray bullet. He was getting married in a few weeks.’ Molly went over to the window and stared out, tears in her eyes. For a moment neither of them spoke. Then she said, ‘Where’s George?’
‘A couple of girls asked could they take him to Burroughs Gardens in the pram,’ said Cath, adding, ‘I suppose you could pawn that pram.’
‘I could. Frank’s not going to be pleased about it, though. Still, he’s in prison so how’s he to know?’ And it meant she could hang on to the last sovereign.
‘When are you going to visit our Frank?’ Cath put the witch hazel into a cardboard box with a red cross on it.
‘I’ll decide when I see your mother. She’s bound to call today.’
‘There’s no trams running.’
‘Then we’ll have to walk.’
* * *
‘I never thought I’d live to see the day, girl, when I’d be visiting Walton prison,’ said Ma, as they walked up Strand Road.
‘Me neither. But there it is,’ said Molly as they crossed the canal.
Soon they were hurrying through a maze of streets, discussing the situation in Liverpool. The threatened general strike had not materialised but there were warships in the Mersey and soldiers were guarding the power station which provided the hydraulics to open the dock gates. There had been looting before they took charge. Ships were arriving and departing but the dockers were still on strike. There again the soldiers had taken over.
The two women reached the footpath which ran through open fields to Hornby Road where the prison stood opposite the cemetery in the ancient parish of Walton. The streets were quiet today, the Corporation having enlisted five hundred special constables to ensure the peace. ‘It fair breaks me heart to think of me boy shut up in such a place,’ said Ma breathlessly as the gaol came into view.
Her boy again, thought Molly, but was able to sympathise with her mother-in-law somewhat today, imagining how she would feel if George were confined within its walls. Perhaps, too, she no longer felt such possessiveness towards Frank. She remembered readi
ng that the grimy, red brick Victorian structure had been built around the same time as the potato famine. The sight of it was enough to chill her blood. She thought of the men who would never leave it again because they had an appointment with the hangman and shivered as they went through its gates.
But when she saw Frank she realised there was another kind of death to fear here. His eyes were lacklustre and in the short time since they had last seen him he had lost weight. ‘Aren’t they feeding you?’ asked Molly, reaching out a hand towards him.
‘I’m not hungry.’ His voice was so low she scarcely caught the words.
‘What did he say?’ said Ma, cupping a hand over her ear.
‘He’s not hungry.’
The older woman’s face worked as if it was about to crumple but she managed to say, ‘You’ve got to make yerself eat, me lad! What kind of attitude is that to take?’
He shrugged, averting his eyes.
Molly started to feel annoyed with him. ‘Your ma’s right, Frank. You’ll be out in less than a month and then everything’ll be back to normal. You’ve got to stop feeling sorry for yourself and eat.’
‘You mean, you’ll still be there waiting for me?’ This time he looked straight into her eyes.
The fury in his shocked her and caused her to stiffen. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘One of me mates said he saw you with a bloke.’ Frank’s voice was sullen. ‘What am I to think when you’ve been trying to keep me at a distance for I don’t know how long?’
Molly glanced at his mother and said in a low voice, ‘Well, it hasn’t worked, has it? Anyway, I’ve spoken to lots of fellas over this past week. What day would this mate be talking about? The day you left me stranded up the Wellington monument with George or the day they carted you off here and I got hit by one of the soldiers? I was glad of a Good Samaritan both times, Frank Payne. And why? Because you were too wrapped up in your cause to protect me. Perhaps you’d like to see my bruises?’ She began to undo her blouse with her left hand. ‘I’ve got a lovely one on my shoulder, shaped just like the map of Africa. It’s a beautiful shade of yellow.’
‘Stop that!’ he hissed, shooting out his hand. ‘I don’t want my wife—’
‘Then don’t go accusing me of something that’s not true,’ Molly retorted.
There was silence and she could see he was having an inner struggle with himself. Eventually he mumbled, ‘Sorry, Moll. I just feel mad when I think of you carrying on with that bargee.’
‘Bargee?’ She was flabbergasted and for a moment could not think who on earth he was talking about. Then, ‘You don’t mean Jack Fletcher?’ she cried. ‘He’s old enough to be me dad, and besides I haven’t seen him for ages. So stop being daft. Eat up your greens and come home ready to get back to work because we’re going to be skint.’
Frank looked baffled. ‘You really haven’t seen him?’
‘Of course I haven’t. Anyway, I look upon him as an uncle.’
He appeared to pull himself together, easing back his shoulders and holding his head higher. ‘Sorry, Moll. It’s this place, it gets you down.’
She forced a smile. ‘You just think of getting back to work.’
‘I don’t know if they’ll take me,’ he said gloomily, shoulders drooping again.
‘Of course they will!’ She knew she had to be positive. ‘You’re not a thief or a murderer. Now stop upsetting your mother.’
‘Sorry, Ma.’ He looked abashed.
She began to talk to him in a soothing voice.
Relieved, Molly sat back, letting the words wash over her, wondering who had mentioned Jack to him and why.
It was not until the two women had left the prison that Ma said, ‘Was yer telling the truth back there, girl, about the bargee?’
‘Of course I was telling the truth. D’you think I’d lie about it?’ Molly hoisted herself up on to the top of the cemetery wall and sat there, holding her face to the sun. It was a warm day with a slight breeze and she felt much better now she was outside.
‘Yer might.’
She opened her eyes and watched her mother-in-law take off her shoe to flick out a stone. ‘I knew a lad once who got a nail through his shoe,’ said Molly conversationally. ‘He was dead within the week.’ She stretched out her legs, gazing at the dust-covered tan boots, thinking how they had once belonged to Nathan’s wife whose grave he still put flowers on. Her heart ached for him.
Ma gave her an exasperated look. ‘What’s any of that got to do with what I just asked yer, madam?’
‘Nothing, I suppose. But I can tell you straight I haven’t been carrying on with Jack Fletcher or any other bargee. And if you don’t believe me, you can just lump it.’
‘I didn’t say I didn’t believe yer,’ said Ma placatingly. ‘And I know yer did get hurt because our Cath told me about yer bruise. Said it was enormous.’
Molly smiled. ‘That’s OK then. Are you ready to go?’ She lowered herself down from the top of the wall and dusted her skirts.
They began to walk towards the footpath. ‘Why don’t yer leave that house and come and live with me?’ said Ma. ‘We’ll manage better altogether. I’ll be able to look after George while you carry on with yer sewing. Our Cath can come back too. We’d all be better off.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ said Molly diplomatically.
‘Well, don’t think about it too long,’ grunted Ma. ‘I’ve taken in a couple of lodgers and I’d have to give them notice to quit.’
Molly parted from her near the canal in Stanley Road, pausing on the bridge, glad to rest her weary feet. She glanced down at the water and remembered the morning she had escaped Ma’s house. She thought of the real Jessica Collins buried in St John’s graveyard and sadness swept over her. Poor little girl! But at least she lay with her mother and was in no danger of being moved since Frank had warned Ma not to interfere and written to the priest as well. Thank God he’d accepted what she’d said back at the prison. He’d given her such a fright at first. But where did he get the idea that she was seeing a bargee?
As if on cue a barge came gliding by. ‘You couldn’t give me a ride as far as Athol Street gasworks, could you?’ called Molly, thinking it would save her feet.
‘So long as thee’s not in a hurry, lass,’ said the boatman.
She glanced round to check Ma wasn’t hiding nearby, spying on her, then made her way to the towpath. She accepted a helping hand aboard and settled herself in the stern, eyes on the boy leading the horse along the towpath, envious of what appeared at that moment to be a wonderfully tranquil life.
‘I’ve seen thee with Jack Fletcher,’ said the bargee abruptly.
‘Not for a while,’ said Molly hastily, but not surprised because he would know Jack and she vaguely remembered seeing him before. ‘How is he?’
‘Wife’s just passed away.’
‘Poor Uncle Jack.’
‘I don’t know if he sees it like that, lass,’ rumbled the man, a smile creasing his tanned face. ‘She was a bit of a tartar.’ He paused, puffing on his pipe. ‘He’ll be getting another woman in her place. His youngest’s getting married and living on the barge.’
Molly nodded. ‘He’s marrying Marie McNally who lives in our street.’ Suddenly she remembered that she and Marie had hair almost the same colour and were of similar build and height. She would tell Frank that when she saw him again.
It wasn’t too long before she was limping up Ascot Street. Mrs McNally was sitting on her front step with George perched on the lower one, watching a group of boys playing five stones. He jumped up when he saw his mother and held out his arms. Molly swung him into the air, wincing as she did so because of her shoulder. ‘How’s my beautiful boy? Have you been good?’
‘Of course he’s been good. He wouldn’t dare be anything else with me,’ said Mrs McNally with a chuckle. ‘How did yer find yer man, girl?’
Molly sank on to the step beside her, glad that Mrs McNally had never said a word to her about Nath
an’s turning up on the day George was born. ‘He’s worrying about getting his job back… and Ma Payne wants me to go and live with her but I don’t want to.’
‘It never works, girl. Needs must sometimes but best on your own.’
‘That’s what I think. I just hope the strike finishes soon.’
‘Me too. I’ll be glad to have my man back on full time again.’
Molly nodded.
‘Our Doris was here.’
‘How is she? It seems ages since I’ve seen her, with all that’s been happening.’
‘It’s not that long, girl. But she had little Jessica with her. She’s growing into a smasher. Behaved like a right little mother to George.’
Molly was surprised to hear it. Disappointed too. ‘I’m sorry to have missed them.’
Mrs McNally seemed to hesitate before saying, ‘Yer’ve only just missed them. They could still be at the factory. Yer’ll have to take George with you, though, if you’re going.’ Molly was already getting to her feet.
She hurried down the street as fast as she could, giving George a piggyback. She was in luck. Doris was playing ball with Jessica in the forecourt where one of those noisy, foul-smelling horseless carriages was parked. Jessica caught sight of them and dropped the ball. She ran towards them just as Nathan came out of the factory, accompanied by a fashionably dressed young woman.
Molly put George down and caught hold of her daughter’s hands as Nathan walked towards them. ‘Molly, what are you doing here? Not that it’s not nice to see you.’
‘Mr Collins,’ she said circumspectly, inclining her head, glad she had put on her Sunday best to visit Frank.
‘So this is our other shareholder?’ said his companion, gazing at Molly with a birdlike brightness in her eyes. ‘It’s about time we met.’ She held out a hand. ‘I’m Charlotte Braithwaite. How do you do?’
Molly had expected a Yorkshire accent but Miss Braithwaite spoke in well-modulated Standard English. They shook hands and Molly wished she could afford a hat as frivolous as the one Charlotte was wearing with its bird-of-paradise feathers and froth of veiling. ‘It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard lots about you.’
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